


Some beautiful paths can't be discovered (without getting lost)

by dawnstruck



Series: Voyager [7]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/F, M/M, Romance, With happy ending, and make-up sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-09 21:28:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12284742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawnstruck/pseuds/dawnstruck
Summary: “Love,” he echoes, “I am not in love with Shiro.”“Aren't you?” Coran asks, “Then if you don't love him, wherein lies the problem?”Or, a fight.





	Some beautiful paths can't be discovered (without getting lost)

**Author's Note:**

> I meant to have this out ages ago, at least the week before season 3. Then I considered scrapping the whole thing because it wasn't going the way I wanted it, too, but yesterday I finally sat down and got it all done in one go. Now it is already time for season 4. ^^'
> 
> Also, just fyi, this series does not and will never follow the plot if the original plot. There is an alternative version of Keith's BoM trial but, other than that, nothing else will be referenced. So Shiro does not disappear, Keith does not become the Black Paladin, Lotor is not a cool feminist badass. But I hope you'll still like this. :)
> 
>  
> 
> VII Soundtrack: “Never be Like You” by Crywolf (Flume Cover) & “Gravity” by Eden

“ _Some beautiful paths can't be discovered without getting lost.”_

Erol Ozan

 

* * *

 

“You are rotten,” Shiro tells him, “You are rotten to your core, like Zarkon, like Lotor, only that you are weak like your mother.”

“That's not true,” Keith objects. His body is aching all over, his shoulder throbbing like the drums in his head, a steady deafening roar, “I-”

“ _You_ ,” Shiro sneers. He seems larger somehow, intimidating, more dangerous than he ever did during his days in the arena, “You killed in your father's name! What of the Benrali? What of the people of Ashtan and the tribes on Kalfez? You may not always have pulled the trigger, you may not always have dropped the bomb. But you were there and you marched and set fire and looked on as your fellow soldiers lay wreckage upon the cities. And you dare call yourself a defender of the universe?”

“I'm a Paladin of Voltron!” Keith insists. His voice sounds off. Something in his throat feels thick and stifling. “The Red Lion chose me! _You_ chose me!”

“A convenient placeholder until we find someone better,” Shiro claims, “I never should have fucked you to begin with. You're too needy, too-”

The world is shaking and Keith, with his vision blurry and his mind unsteady, takes a moment to understand that it is the entire base that is being attacked from the outside. Through the unfathomable connection in his brain, in his soul he can tell that it is Red laying siege upon the hideout of the Blade of Marmora. She at least would not abandon him, even if Shiro seemed to have no need of him.

Just this morning they had fucked. With Keith on his belly, Shiro draped across his back, rocking into him, slowly, slowly, more sleep than sex really, and Keith's entire being had felt liquid, heavy like the waters at the bottom of a lake.

What had changed since then? The way the rebels had looked upon Keith as one might observe a rabid and feral creature – from a safe distance, waiting for it to show the first symptoms of its madness, waiting to put it down before it could hurt anyone? The bare hatred in their eyes when Keith took off his helmet and they recognized him for the bastard prince he was? Their accusations when they would not believe his oath to defeat Zarkon and instead made him participate in this pointless trial?

What was there to prove, really? His pride, his persistence, his prowess in battle? His worthiness as a paladin? He thought he had outsmarted them, only to come face to face with Shiro who blamed him for their distrust, for the failure of their mission.

He should have taken along Lance or Allura instead. Keith was no diplomat, especially not when it came to his own people. They'd rather see him executed, both those loyal to his father and those fighting against him. Keith was an outsider, a traitor, forever doomed to life in exile. He could not return to Galra. What little home he had was the Castle of Lions, was Shiro's need for him.

“I'll kill Zarkon!” he swears. His fingers clench around the hilt of the dagger the rebels had given him, with its jagged edges and glowing insignia. “I'll kill Lotor! I'll- I'll kill anyone you-”

“Murder,” Shiro scoffs, “Is that all you have to offer? You may be willing to kill for our cause but are you ready to die for it?”

Keith's breath hitches. Would he lay down his life to bring peace to the universe? Whenever he had faced down Death, he had done so out of spite and contradiction. He did it for his own sake. But could he sacrifice himself for the greater good when it was asked of him?

“See,” Shiro says, interpreting Keith's hesitance too quickly to allow for objections, “You are a coward, like your brother.” He turns around, turns away, barely even glances back over his shoulder. “I'll go talk to the Blades. Maybe one of them is truly worthy of being called a Paladin of Voltron.”

“Shiro,” Keith tries to stop him, his unarmed hand feebly reaching out, “Wait!”

The door opens in front of Shiro and a blinding white light swallows everything.

  


They allow Keith to keep the blade, transformed as it is, and then Kolivan and the one named Antok accompany them to the castle. Their suspicion is still palpable, though, and Keith stands off to the side, his arms crossed as he watches the tense exchange between Kolivan and Allura.

“Don't let it get to you, dude,” Hunk tells Keith afterwards, heartily clapping him on the back. He, too, must have noticed the way Kolivan kept referring to him as Zarkon's bastard, even though the corner of Shiro's mouth twitched in disapproval every single time.

“Please,” Keith rolls his eyes, “I have known worse than my kin's scorn.”

“They'll warm up to you,” Hunk encourages him, “We did, too.”

“That is because you are idiots,” Keith huffs.

“Charming as always.” Hunk gives a little sigh. “Wanna grab some food? You were gone for a while and a session in the healing pods always has me starving.”

“You're always starving,” Keith reminds him.

“It's called being a gourmet with a healthy appetite,” Hunk claims and pulls him along into the direction of the kitchen. Across the deck, Keith can see Shiro watching him with dark eyes but he just ducks his head and ignores the feeling of shame.

 

“Hey,” Shiro says later because of course that wasn't the end of that matter, “Can we talk?”

“Can I stop you?” Keith asks.

Shiro sighs. “Let's take this somewhere private, all right?”

Private turns out to be the observation deck, darkened and deserted as it is. There is usually something soothing about it, about the stars that seem to be just at their fingertips but, for once, Keith only feels vulnerable.

It's the aftereffects of the damned suit the rebels had made him wear, he knows. He'd been familiar with the technology, a variation of a mindscape-altering device that made it easier to subtly extract sensitive information when there were no druids to torture it out of their subjects. And yet, Keith had fallen for the deception and not even recognized it as such.

It was embarrassing. It was humiliating. It was nauseating to know that, all the while, Shiro had been privy to the depths of Keith's despair.

“I just want you to know,” Shiro says, “That all the things you thought I said back there... none of that is true. You know that, right?”

“Sure,” Keith says with feigned ease, “You heard what the rebels said. They were fears, not certainties.”

“Then I want you to be _certain_ ,” Shiro insists and steps a little closer, “That I would never think anything like that. And none of the others would either. We all trust you and we want you to be on the team.”

“The rebels don't trust me.”

“Then they can shove their hypocrisy and try to take Zarkon down on their own,” Shiro says, “They are rebels and traitors themselves. They have no right to judge you for your desertion.”

Keith shrugs his shoulders, uncomfortable.

He doesn't like how Shiro tries to understand him, how to wants to talk and get close. What they have is... good. Pleasant. Tolerable. Yet Shiro is always pushing for more, making Keith feel cornered and subsequently lash out.

Shiro is... a good guy, Keith can acknowledge that. He is brave and upstanding and incredibly empathetic. Keith, in comparison, has nothing like that to offer.

“Nevertheless, we need their support for our quest,” he says instead, hoping to derail the conversation, “Zarkon may have legitimized me, but I had little sway with the upper echelons. I was given no sensitive information because I hadn't proven myself yet. And much of what Coran knows is inaccurate or outdated. We are dependent on our allies and we cannot afford to be picky.”

Shiro looks at him as though he knows exactly what Keith is trying to achieve.

“I agree,” he says at length, “But still. I want you to know that you do not fall into that category. You are here because we want you, not because you are useful. Perhaps... in the beginning, that was the case. But not anymore. I know that... sometimes acting like you don't care makes you feel less weak but... the truth is that caring is the one thing that truly makes us strong.”

And weapons and numbers and ruthlessness, Keith thinks, recalling his father's overwhelming troops. Those things made you strong, too.

“Can I go now?” he asks plainly and Shiro gives him a look, not quite disappointed but slightly resigned.

“Yes,” he allows and Keith is already shifting, turning toward the exit.

“But, Keith,” Shiro stops him, making Keith glance back and stop dead in his tracks when he is surprised by a kiss easing itself onto his mouth. He blinks, stares a little. Shiro's smile is as soft as his voice.

“I know you're gonna hit the training deck again, even though you shouldn't so shortly after just getting healed,” he says, “I'm not trying to talk you out of it, but... don't overdo it, all right?”

Keith purses his lips. Sometimes, when Keith asks for it, Shiro will press black bruises into his skin and make him see dying stars, but then he turns around and worries over Keith overexerting himself. It's a dizzying contrast, an emotional whiplash that Keith doesn't know what to do with.

“If you are bored, drop by my room later,” Shiro adds, as though he could read the confusion in Keith's eyes, “You know my door is always open.”

 

Training, usually, is the only distraction that silences Keith's thoughts. Today, however, it fails.

Perhaps it's the lingering physical strain from the trial. Perhaps it's the mental one.

It hadn't been that long ago that he had been subjected to a similarly strenuous experience.

He can still feel their hands on him, their eyes picking him apart as though he were barely worth their attention.

A dirty half-breed like you, Lotor had whispered into his ear, I warned father that you would only ever be a disgrace but he thought you might prove yourself valuable. But I was right, was I not? Hunting you down was more trouble than you are worth.

Keith, captured and restrained, had not bothered with a reply. A spiteful answer would only entice Lotor and make him crueler still. But perhaps Keith had already given him too much blackmail material anyway.

Where is your champion now, little brother? Where is your lover? Has he abandoned you so easily? Can you not see how he is like all those who came before you, those who would fuck you and cast you aside once they had satisfied their urges?

Keith had not acknowledged him, had simply stared straight ahead. Lotor knew nothing, _nothing_ , he held no power over Keith, he-

I do have to wonder, though, Lotor's voice had slithered across Keith's skin like an invasive species, He is small of stature, like you. Surely, his cock must have been a disappointment.

He had grabbed at Keith's crotch through the armor then and Keith had tensed, but little more, even as Lotor's blithe soliloquy continued.

I almost wish my predilections lay elsewhere, Lotor lamented. But do not worry. I shan't leave you alone. I will sit right here and witness your wreckage. Perhaps you'll even grow to enjoy it. But... I wouldn't get my hopes up.

Everything after that had been a blur. Because Keith had thought that that was it, that he was to suffer the punishment for his perversions, that he was going to be subjugated and torn apart in one way or in many ways but then- then the ship was being hailed and he had the pleasure of seeing Lotor's indignation that Voltron would so blatantly come after him.

It didn't matter, though. Even if the paladins managed to locate the ship and follow after it, Lotor could always just cut his throat and be done with it. Only, Keith reminded himself as he watched the exchange between his Galran brother and his human lover, Lotor was a child at heart and he so treasured his sick little games.

I'll leave the hailing frequency open for you, he had told Shiro, I hope you enjoy his screams.

But Keith had not screamed. He refused to cry, refused to submit, even as Madir and Arruk tore off his armor and then his undersuit, as they scraped their nails and teeth along his nudity and licked the cold sweat off his skin.

He had cursed them and cussed them out. But he had not shown his pain, his disgust. The reasons for it had been all jumbled up in his head, barely distinguishable from each other. Refusal to surrender in front of Lotor, the knowledge that the other paladins could hear him, the desperate wish to spare himself that additional humiliation coupled with the hope that their own trauma would be minimized, the creeping suspicion that they would pity him after or blame themselves, the gnawing doubt whether Shiro would not be disgusted by him.

Shiro did not want a used whore, he had made that clear time and time again. Who knew what diseases Madir and Arruk carried? Who knew how they would mark him up? Wouldn't death be kinder than being offered salvation but having to face the paladins again and risking that Shiro would turn him away?

But... none of that had happened. Instead, Keith had been saved, from Lotor, from agony, saved for the first time in his life by something other than his own tenacity. The team had busted him out and Red had been waiting for him and no one had seemed to think of him as _less_. A novelty. An enigma.

Humans, Keith had known then, would never cease to confound him.

  


To put it simply, Keith's nerves during the next mission are somewhat frayed.

That's the easiest way to put it. Distraction and disobedience instead of the worrisome realization that he _cares_. About everything. About all of them.

This is no longer just about getting one up on Zarkon and Lotor. It is not even solely about saving the universe or various planets and species. It is about Voltron in all of its entirety. Its heritage, its legacy, its history, its future. Keith cares about the lions and... he cares about their pilots, too.

They had saved him, in more ways than just one, and he wanted to save them in turn. He has no other way to express himself but this fierce and raw conviction.

So during the mission, when shots are being fired and the stakes are high, and when Shiro is ordering them over the comm to stick to their positions, when Keith notices how Pidge is struggling to hold her own – Keith goes and disregards said orders.

It's a calculated move because he knows what he is doing. He knows Galran battle ships and strategy better than anyone, knows how to evade and turn it into his favor. He knows what he is doing.

So he does it, distracts the shooters that are caging in Pidge, buys her enough time so she can bust herself free, and then Shiro's stern voice across the comm is being overshadowed by Lance's harried yells and Hunk's calling for back-up. Because, it turns out, that the battleships that had previously engaged Keith at his position had turned toward Hunk instead, meaning he was faced with double the firepower.

The Yellow Lion could withstand a few direct hits, easily the sturdiest of all lions, but she was slower and less agile. She was not meant to take on this many shooters in such a manner.

But of course, there are five of them and, eventually, it all ends well and they all return to the castle in one piece. Or, rather, five pieces after successfully forming and then disbanding Voltron again.

Hunk is a little pale around the nose when he steps out of his lion but he easily waves off Keith who makes an inarticulate attempt to explain himself, before Hunk is being pulled away by Lance who promises to find him something soothing for his upset stomach. Pidge shuffles from one foot to the other and eventually drudges up a small-voiced thanks for Keith's help.

Shiro, however, is an altogether different matter.

Keith doesn't notice at first, just glances his eyes along the slightly tenser line of Shiro's back. It hadn't been their most dangerous mission, certainly not their most important, so he does not think much of it. They'd fuck or at least make out a little and then everything would be well again. Fighting always aroused Keith like little else but Shiro was always terribly wound up. Keith needed some sort of battle to reach his high, but Shiro required orgasm to truly come down. They fit well together, in that regard.

The others have already left the hangar, so he and Shiro are waiting for the elevator to come down again. Keith think it must be a deliberate move on Shiro's part, to get them alone as soon as possible, so he saunters into the elevator cabin once it arrives and fully expects to be shoved up against the wall and kissed senseless.

But none of that happens.

Instead Shiro just turns to him, his face dark, and says, “Don't ever disregard my orders like that again.”

Keith draws up short, “What.”

“You broke formation and knowingly endangered Hunk,” Shiro points out, “If I had been any slower-”

“And it I had been any slower, Pidge would have been roast meat,” Keith growls, hackles rising immediately, “The Green Lion is not made to withstand that kind of attack and-”

“And Hunk almost hadn't been either,” Shiro says, “You knows he has trouble making fast calls in battle situations. You can't assume everyone has military training like you.”

Keith lips purse. “Everyone got out unscathed,” he notes, “So the point is moot.”

“The point is that is that you are literally my right-hand-man and I need to be able to trust you,” Shiro tells him, “Which means that you cannot just make these decisions without at least informing the rest of us.”

“There was no time-” Keith insists. The elevator has come to a halt again, the door opening to the main deck, and Shiro stalks out, no doubt heading to his routine debrief with the princess.

“If you wanna risk your own life, that's one thing,” he says over his soldier, “But don't endanger the others.”

Perhaps he expects Keith to say something smart-assed, for him to follow and argue his opinion some more. But Keith just grits his teeth and slams the button on the control panel that will take him to the training deck.

 

He tears through the training bots in an attempt to distract himself, but all he manages it to jar his wrist in a sloppily executed defensive move. His thoughts keeps spinning around his conversation with Shiro and how much it aggravated him.

The two of them didn't always see eye to eye but, for the most part, they could make their dynamic work.

Keith's original relationship with Shiro since their time aboard the Galra battleship had not changed per se, but... evolved. Or, perhaps more accurately, Keith himself had evolved, had become more than what dreadful existence had been permitted before.

Now, he still wants Shiro. But he also wants the lion and the team. He wants freedom and autonomy. Shiro had been the first choice Keith had ever made of his own volition. And even then he had to set it up so that it felt like force.

He does not understand Shiro's interest in him. Keith is no conversationalist. He's not funny like Lance or kind like Hunk. Shiro would be suited to a princess like Allura who is equal parts grace and mercy, not Zarkon's halfblood son who has stitched arrogance across his scars to make them look more like battle trophies.

Keith, at his core, is weak and the Blades' trial had proven that. Survival is not greatness. Spite is not bravery. And sex... Sex is just that.

The thought gnaws at him. It shouldn't, really, not after he himself had set up such rigid boundaries. He had never truly welcomed Shiro's tenderness, had seen it as a slight at best, a ploy to lower his defenses at worst.

And Keith hadn't meant for it to happen, but somehow it had worked anyway. He let Shiro fuck him gently, fell asleep by his side, voiced no complaints about kisses. He reveled in being called pretty and good, enjoyed Shiro's fingers in his hair.

I got down on my knees for him, Keith thinks, lowering his bayard and conceding defeat, But he made me surrender.

 

He goes to Shiro's cabin, sweaty and sore as he is.

They'll fuck, he knows, and forget the whole thing. They could do it angrily, with Keith’s knees or back rubbed raw against the floor, with his legs spread as wide as they go, with Shiro slapping his ass and his cheeks and stuffing his fingers into Keith's mouth.

Or perhaps, for a change, Keith could try to make himself soft for Shiro, could shiver underneath his touches, could throw his head back and mewl and press pretty kisses into the hollow of Shiro's throat.

Shiro always seemed to like that, the few times they had done it like that. And Keith... Keith had liked it, too.

He punches his request to enter into the control panel but it still takes a while for the door to open and, when it does, Shiro is standing on the threshold, one arm braced against the wall.

“Hey,” Keith says, tilting his chin up in a manner that is both an offer and a challenge.

Shiro’s mouth opens and closes without saying anything.

“What do you want?” he asks at once as though he could not read the look in Keith’s eyes.

“Take a guess,” Keith huffs, stepping closer and pressing himself up along the line of Shiro’s body. The feeling is calming and familiar, more so than his time on the training deck had been.

Yet Shiro – and this something he had never done before – just pushes him away.

“No,” he says resolutely, his hand against Keith's chest to keep him away, “That’s not how you resolve a fight.”

What fight, Keith wonders and then realizes that Shiro must be talking about the aftermath of today’s mission. Was he still upset about Keith’s disobedience? Had his mood not smoothed itself out during the past hours? But it’s just as well; Keith knew just the thing to get him to loosen up a little.

“C'mon,” he says, his fingers circling around Shiro's wrist, “You're angry, I get it. But how about you channel all that anger into something worthwhile?”

And he brings Shiro's hand up to his throat, in mimicry of their usual play.

“No,” Shiro repeats, more vehemently this time, immediately pulling free, “I could hurt you.”

“That's the idea,” Keith smirks, only to see Shiro's features tremble.

“I am not going to fuck you when I am not in control of myself,” he says, his voice tight, “I am certainly not going to fuck you when I am angry. I am not going to fuck you because you think it's easier than having a proper conversation about the matter.”

“What do you want, an apology?” Keith hisses, quick to switch into defense mode, “You think I messed up during the mission? Well, I don't. You think I put Hunk at risk today? This is a war – everyone is always at risk. I saved Pidge, I helped bust Hunk free, we got away unscathed. Why are you so hung up on this?!”

“Because I need to know I can rely on you,” Shiro replies tersely, looking close to snapping. “Even if your plans work out fine, I at least need to know what you are doing. You can't treat this like a one-man-mission.”

“I know that. I fucking know that!” Keith cannot help but bristle. “You don’t need to tell me all the time.”

“Well, apparently I do because you keep forgetting. But I'm done discussing this,” Shiro announces, stepping away, “I'm going to sleep now. Alone.”

You said your door is always open, Keith thinks.

“Yes, sir,” he says and turns away.

  


They remain professional around each other. If the others notice a change in their relationship, none of them mention it.

Keith, in the meanwhile doesn't quite know what to do with himself. Time between missions stretches out in acute boredom and listlessness. He used to join the team during their downtime, lounging around, preparing meals, but only when Shiro was present as well, the only connecting factor he had.

Now, though, he has no more excuse and he doubts that any of them want to endure his presence when it is not tempered by Shiro's calming effect on him.

So Keith trains, with his bayard and with the sword the Blades gave him and with various weapons he finds aboard the ship. He takes the Red Lion for flying exercises and polishes his armor to a shine. He still gives a greeting nod when he comes across someone in the hallway, still joins everyone at dinnertime. But he is separate, isolated, just as he had been when he first joined the team and they saw in him little less than a threat but little more than a prisoner.

Such irony that it would be lost before Keith had truly gotten a hold of it.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, Lance had muttered once, finishing a story about his mother scolding him for not completing his chores, homesickness clearly laced through the words.

Is that was this is? A longing so strong it even paints the formerly hated aspects in a more favorable light?

Keith had never missed Galra or his life as a prince. This feeling of yearning for something he cannot return to is new to him.

At the core of it, though, sits his addiction for Shiro.

He should have expected it from the way he had not been able to keep his distance from him while they were still prince and prisoner. Keith had to let him escape in order to free himself from his thrall but, inexplicably, fate had thrown them together once more, in this war and into passion.

Now, Keith finds himself bereft, his skin crawling with the absence of familiar touch.

Yet is is not just the sex he misses but everything else, too. The way Shiro would often put a hand to his shoulder to anchor him, or brush his knuckles over the nape of Keith's neck. The sleepy kisses when they woke up together and how their knees touched under the table during dinner.

Often, they had sparred together and talked strategy, but recently Shiro had let his mind wander more often, had told him stories of his planet and his family and his childhood, brighter and richer than any star Keith had ever seen.

Now, there is a void instead and Keith knows not how to fill it.

 

He is sitting in the dark of the observation deck, staring out into the vast emptiness of space, trying to make his thoughts equally vacant and tranquil, but it proves to be a difficult endeavor. Even more so when he suddenly hears someone enter the deck and step up behind him.

Keith doesn't have to turn around to know who it is. He has everyone on the team memorized down to their heartbeats, though even that wouldn't be enough to protect him from falling for any holograms.

But Keith does not react, just stubbornly glares down at his feet.

“I cannot help but notice,” Coran says, easily settling down next to him, “That you and Shiro are in a bit of a strop.”

Keith's shoulders hunch up and he curves in on himself.

“If that's what you like to call it,” he mutters, not taking his eyes off the floor.

“Relationships are never easy,” Coran muses, not at all deterred by Keith's attitude. He had always been rather resilient in that regard. “It's a constant give and take. A series of compromises.”

“Of course,” Keith says, “I'm sure you're an expert.”

“Oh, you'd be surprised,” Coran laughs, twirling his mustache between his fingertips, “I was quite the lover boy, back in the day. Of course, that was before I met my wife.”

His tone grows more sober at the end and Keith tenses, already knowing what is to come. Because Coran and Allura were the last survivors of Altea and the maths is easily done.

“Her name was Delta and she was a general,” Coran continues. He's leaning back on his hands now, speaking up to the ceiling or perhaps more to himself. There's pain laced through the words and nostalgia and understated fondness. “Her troops fell in an ambush by Zarkon's army, early on when we were not yet sure what he was capable of. I don't actually know who cried more that day, me – or Alfor when he blamed himself.”

Keith swallows. He had never understood how Coran could have so easily accepted Zarkon's son into their midst. Now he understands it even less.

“It'd be easy to lose oneself to grief,” Coran says with a smile. “But I prefer remembering our happier times instead. Oh, we fought,” he admits, “We fought a lot. She was very serious and I was very silly. For a long time, people told us that we would never find common ground. But she... made me grow up and I helped her let loose sometimes. Love is not about expecting other people to change for you but about knowing that changing yourself for the better is worth it.”

Keith looks pensive for a moment. Then he jerks his head up.

“Love,” he echoes, “I am not in love with Shiro.”

“Aren't you?” Coran asks, “Then if you don't love him, wherein lies the problem?”

Keith takes a deep breath, only to immediately lose it again.

“Are you familiar with the old epics?” Coran asks, seemingly non-sequitur, “Of Garin and Kolran?”

Keith blinks, gives slow nod. The memories of his childhood are hazy at best and hated at worst, but he had always enjoyed being told of the heroes of old, the ones that came even before Voltron.

Garin, he remembers, had been said to be one of the fiercest warriors that ever were born of Galra. Many had wanted her and yet she had taken none as her lover, declaring that only someone who bested her in battle could truly be considered her equal. Of all those who challenged her, and most of them full of hubris, only one succeeded.

Kolran had fought her for three Vargas until Garin had eventually lost her footing. Instead of gloating and claiming her in triumph, however, Kolran had acknowledged that it was a cheap victory, and proposed a rematch upon the morrow. Again Kolran won but, this time, Garin claimed that the sun had been in her eyes and again Kolran offered a rematch.

Garin, intrigued and confused by this challenger, wanted to know his true nature and so, upon the next fight, she decided to lose on purpose by letting her sword slip from her fingers. A rematch, Kolran insisted. Yet, when she pressed him for answers on why he would not just accept the result of their fight, he admitted that he had never come to lay claim on her in the first place. All he wanted, he said, was to see her fight up close when he had already been watching her from afar for so long.

So when they crossed swords next, Garin put her everything into it and finally managed to disarm Kolran. A rematch, she told him that day and every day until their wedding and every day after that until both were too old to hold a sword anymore.

It was, supposedly, a story of great love and admiration. It belied tenacity but also respect for your partner. It spoke of trust and passion and true enjoyment of each others' qualities.

It was, in Coran's opinion as it seemed, also an allegory for how that thing between Keith and Shiro should work.

“We aren't like that,” Keith says, abruptly standing up, “And we never were.”

“But perhaps,” Coran offers, “You could one day be?”

“Too late for that,” Keith says curtly and marches away.

  


The Illili, Coran explains what Keith already knows, are a polyamorous, polygamous, promiscuous people based on a matriarchal system and currently led by Queen Issala.

“Oh boy,” Lance says, gleefully rubbing his hands as soon as he hears the word promiscuous, “Sounds like my kinda planet.”

“You are so vile,” Pidge sneers up at him, “This is not the space edition of _The Bachelor_ , you know?”

“Well, duh,” Lance says, “The Bachelor has to choose one girl out of many. But why settle when there is enough of Lance to go around for everyone?”

“Promiscuous doesn't mean that they don't have standards.”

“Hey!”

“Stop squabbling,” Shiro admonishes them. He's been terse lately, less likely to indulge in the team's shenanigans. Keith wonders whether it's his fault.

“We need the Illili's support,” Shiro continues, “So you all ought to be on your best behavior. Do not compromise our objective. Understood?”

“Understood,” they all say and then make for their lions.

Queen Issala, it turns out, is an undisputed beauty. Her skin is a deep shimmering blue, like moonlight upon water, and three sets of eyes gleam black when she curiously takes them in.

“I grew up believing Altea had fallen,” she says in her ethereal undulating voice, “But then we heard whispers of the rebirth of Voltron.”

“Altea is no more,” Allura says and the grief only makes her quiver a little, “Yet we fight not for revenge but for peace. And we would have your support in our quest against Zarkon.”

At Issala's feet sit a handful of toddlers, all at least vaguely resembling the queen. They are her children, bastard born of different fathers but all legitimate heirs as their lineage is clear. Yet it is her younger sister Imini whom Issala exchanges a look with.

“We are a prosperous nation,” the queen knows, “It is only a matter of time until Zarkon will seek to vanquish us. It is in our best interest to secure an allegiance with both Voltron and Altea. Yet I have one request to make, Queen Allura.”

Allura does not flinch at the title. To the Illili, she had been born a queen. They knew no kings and did not recognize Alfor as such or expect a coronation to officially change Allura's status, monarch of a destroyed planet though she was.

“If it is within my power, I will gladly answer your request,” Allura says, her head held high.

Queen Issala smiles and all of her six eyes shine in delight.

“You have to stay for dinner,” she says and in that way it's settled.

 

“Oh man,” Lance says, “Oh man.”

“This is the best fucking plot twist I have ever seen ever,” Pidge says and snickers into her drink.

“I mean, can you blame her?” Hunk asks, lifting his big shoulders in a small shrug, “Either of them?”

Though Queen Issala's invitation had been extended toward all of them, of course, it had quickly become obvious that she was primarily interested in Allura, at least going by the way she was making a lot of pretty eyes at the princess. And Allura, though she had seemed somewhat reserved in the beginning, was now obviously warming up and clearly enjoying the unexpected advances if the way she was leaning in closer and closer was anything to go by.

“Poor Lance,” Pidge mocks, “His best get-laid plans once more squashed by unforeseen lesbianism.”

“That was one time and I could not have known that that waitress wasn't straight!”

“She literally told you she has a girlfriend.”

“I thought it was an offer for a threesome!”

“In your dreams.”

“Be quiet now,” Shiro shushes them, “Princess Imini is coming over, so behave.”

Pidge grumbles but goes back to her food. Lance, however, immediately sits up straighter and puts on his brightest smile as the queen's sister approaches them.

Imini seems quieter than her Issala, more used to fading into the background, though she is easily just as pretty, her skin just a shade lighter, the look in her eyes more demure.

“Paladins,” she greets with a small smile. In her hands she is carrying a plate with finger food and Keith cannot help but narrow his eyes. There were servants for that after all and it was unusual for a princess to serve food to honored guests in such a manner.

“Princess Imini,” Shiro says, standing up at once to pull out the empty chair at his side, “Please, have a seat.”

“You are so courteous,” she says and sits with little fanfare. The skin on her cheeks seems to shimmer.

“The least I can do in the face of your hospitality,” Shiro returns. All of this came so easily to him, the role of leader and diplomat, but also that of a warrior, a friend, a strategist, and not for the first time Keith found himself vaguely envious of his many talents.

“Yes,” Imini says, though she sends a coy look over at the Queen who has caught a strand of Allura's white hair and is thoughtfully rubbing it between her fingers, “My sister loathes subtlety.”

Shiro smiles. “It will do Allura good to enjoy herself. She is young and the responsibilities she carries are great.”

“But is not the same true for you, Paladin?” she asks, slowly blinking at him. The curve of her lashes is like a finely honed blade, pretty and precise.

“Yes,” Shiro chuckles a little, lifting his glass, “Which is why I am even more grateful for you hosting us so splendidly.”

“So, Princess Imini,” Lance butts in, planting his elbow on the table as he leans over, “I see you have a bunch of nieces and nephews already. Any plans on becoming a mother soon yourself?”

“Yes,” Imini says, unperturbed by the blunt question. Her cheeks shimmer again as she places a hand on her belly. “My sister loves easily and freely. I am still looking for someone more... worthy of being the father of my children. Someone who can boast strength of character and experience in battle.”

“Sounds like you are looking for a Paladin of Voltron,” Lance says and gives an exaggerated wink. Beside him, Pidge makes a disgusted gagging noise.

“Yes,” Imini agrees and keeps her eyes fixed on Shiro.

Ah, Keith thinks and smirks to himself. Hadn't she just mocked her sister's lack of subtlety?

Shiro, however, just keeps on eating, blithely acting as though he had not heard her. Had he heard her? Had he understood? It was hard to miss after all. Even Lance face has fallen and he slumps down in his seat again, morosely picking at his food.

“Paladin,” Imini says now as though there was only Shiro, “Would you join me for a walk in the Royal Gardens?”

Shiro stills, looks up, seems to think for a moment.

“Of course,” he says at length, setting down his eating utensils, “It would be my pleasure.”

He pushes his chair back and stands up, offering his hand to Imini which she takes, gracefully rising to her feet. She is taller than him, her head bald and body dressed in flowing sea-green fabrics, iridescent like the night around a moon. Shiro smiles up and does not look at Keith.

Keith turns back to the food in front of him, tasteless and bland, not watching as Imini leads Shiro away to the garden. Or, perhaps, her bedchamber.

“Uhhh,” Hunk says, gaze twitching from Keith to Shiro and back again, “Is this alright with you?”

“Dude, don't rub salt into the wound,” Lance hisses, nudging him with his elbow.

“I'm just saying,” Hunk shrugs helplessly, “They've barely even been talking lately. What's going on?”

“Nothing that concerns you,” Keith says, reaching for a decanter of whatever passes for alcohol on this planet.

“I don't know, man, it kinda does,” Hunk muses, scratching his chin, “I mean, things have been kinda tense with how you guys are acting around each other. Maybe sort things out before they get worse?”

“There's nothing to sort out,” Keith claims, “We can still form Voltron, so whatever differences we might have are unimportant.”

“God,” Pidge groans, letting her head loll back, “Can't you guys just fuck it out like you usually do?”

“Pidge!” Lance says, scandalized, but she just rolls her eyes at him.

Keith peers down into his drink. “I tried that,” he admits.

“So?” Pidge wants to know.

“He turned me away.”

“Ouch.”

“Did you try talking about it?” Hunk asks and Keith glances up at him.

“That only makes everything worse.”

“Then there are clearly some things you guys still need to work on,” Hunk nods wisely, “Communication is the key to a healthy relationship.”

“There's no relationship,” Keith says and knocks back his drink.

“Fuck buddies, friends with benefits,” Pidge waves her hand, “Whatever you want to call it.”

“We're not that either.”

That, finally, has the three exchange confused looks as though they had not expected such a revelation.

“We aren't anything,” Keith mutters, pushing himself out of his chair, “And we never were.”

He doesn't wait long enough for anyone to ask for an explanation, just stalks out of the hall. He does not go into the gardens.

 

They have been given rooms to accommodate them because Queen Issala had made it quite clear that she expected Allura to stay after dinner. Though Allura probably would not be spending the night in her own bed, as it seemed.

Keith, however, craves some privacy, some time to himself. He had never liked large crowds, liked feasts even less, and so he is only happy enough to lock himself away in his guest room, guiding himself through some exercises of wielding both his bayard and his newer Marmora sword. It's a mentally demanding task because, although he is ambidextrous, the blades change form at will and he aims to integrate that into his style of fighting. Sometimes, a large sword would be inconvenient and being able to switch to a dagger would certainly come in handy.

He does not know how much time passes like this but, eventually, there is a noise in the hallway and he stills.

Shiro's room, he knows, is located directly across from his, but all their rooms were on this hallway, closely grouped together. So it can't have been Shiro who returned now. Surely, he would have joined Princess Imini in her more comfortable quarters; after all, he had always seemed to enjoy what little luxuries Keith's own royal status had afforded him.

He wonders who it might be then. Hunk, after having hounded the cooks for some recipes? Lance, disappointed and ready for bed after no one wanted to dance with him? Pidge, having exhausted her tour of the Illili's castle in her quest to understand their foreign technology?

It won't hurt to check, Keith thinks, and opens his door.

“Oh,” he says because, to his surprise, the door to Shiro's room is also wide open. There is no princess around but Shiro looks up when he hears him.

“Hey,” he says, his gaze carefully glancing over Keith as though he, too, were unsure of what to make of this moment.

“Where's the princess?”

“Allura's still with the queen, I assume,” Shiro says and Keith bristles.

“You know what I mean.”

Shiro sighs. He does know.

“Princess Imini showed me the gardens,” he allows, “Which were very lovely. We talked for a while. And then I wished her a good night and came here.”

Keith's brow furrows.

“She tried to seduce you,” he concludes.

“And I turned her down,” Shiro counters, though the line of his shoulders is a little tense.

“After playing along so nicely?” Keith smirks, “Were you just being polite or were you hoping to make me jealous?”

“Not all my actions revolve around you, Keith.”

“Perhaps not,” Keith acknowledges, “In any case, you succeeded. I was jealous.”

“You have no reason to be,” Shiro assures him, “I would never touch anyone else.”

“She was willing,” Keith says, “And I... and we were... We aren't...”

“We aren't what, Keith?”

He asks it plainly, directly, as though their were a similar answer to it, but Keith only licks his lips as he searches for words.

“Fucking,” he says because perhaps it will be enough, “We aren't fucking anymore.”

Shiro frowns. “That doesn't mean that I would just go looking somewhere else. Certainly not on a planet we're trying to align ourselves with.”

It's a poor excuse. Turning Princess Imini down could be viewed as a possible affront; not to mention that Allura had had no qualms about following Queen Issala to her royal bedchamber after dessert.

“You heard what Coran said,” Keith shrugs, “They're promiscuous. They do not care for commitment. You could fuck her, a princess, and even get an heir out of it.”

“The last thing I want to do it put children into this universe,” Shiro tells him, looking slightly on edge now. “Why are you so fixated on it? I'm not interested in her or in anyone else. There's no reason to fight over this.”

Keith would rather have a proper fight with bared teeth and raised voices than the cold shoulder Shiro had been showing him. Like this, things felt unfinished. If the only closure Keith could get was through an argument carried out while they were not even standing in the same room, then so be it.

Yet Shiro seems to be thinking differently.

“Would you please come in,” he says, stepping away from the door, “This is not exactly a conversation I want anyone to overhear.”

Keith clenches his fists. Was that the only reason Shiro would invite him into his room now? It doesn't matter. Little would change with this, and Keith is ready for it to be over.

So he steps over the threshold, first his, then Shiro's, and the doors close behind him, leaving the two of them alone. He'd never had a problem with it before, but now he feels caged.

“Lance clued me in that there might have a misunderstanding,” Shiro says. He does not sit down, does not offer Keith to sit either, just runs a palm over the cropped hair at the back of his head. “He said you seemed to think that we are... broken up?”

He voices it like a question, as though he were not sure himself, of the words or their implication.

Keith swallows. Opens his mouth.

“You haven't taken me to bed,” he says, “Not once during the past three weeks.”

“But that's the point,” Shiro insists, “We can't just fuck our problems away, Keith. That's not how this relationship is going to work in the long run. And that's not how we can lead this team either.”

This time, Keith's mouth snaps shut. He doesn't know what confuses him more – the fact that Shiro truly considers him his right-hand-man? Or that he is apparently making plans for their future?

Perhaps Shiro can read the surprise on Keith's face but whatever he sees makes the consternation melt out of his gaze.

“You really thought that, huh?” he asks, his voice pitched low, “That I considered us over.”

Keith presses his claws into the palms of his hands, as hard as he dares without drawing blood.

“You turned me away,” he says quietly and Shiro's shoulder sink.

“Because I was angry and still worried after the mission and, instead of trying to comfort me, you disappear to the training deck for hours on end and then come to demand sex,” he explains, “But somewhere we got our wires crossed and you seemed to think that I no longer want anything to do with you and that I'd just go around bedding random princesses.”

Keith doesn't reply, too busy staring down at the toes of his boots. But then he is interrupted by Shiro's hands on his cheeks, turning him upward and into what is their first kiss in entirely too long a time.

At once, a hunger comes over Keith, like thirst in the desert, and he wants to let it overwhelm them, wants to push himself into Shiro's embrace and let the fire fester. But he doesn't, just leans into the kiss and opens his mouth for it, for Shiro's taste and tongue, for the sense of familiarity.

“Keith,” Shiro says, pulling back a little to press their foreheads together instead, “What do I have to do to make you believe me that I want you? That I'm not just gonna replace you with the next best thing? You are smart and fierce and beautiful and more loyal than you like to admit. You are sassy and funny and determined and grouchy when you're tired. You have a habit of breathing against my neck when you fall asleep first and it drives me nuts but I would never push you away. I like having you by my side. I like waking up next to you. Is that so difficult to understand?”

Yes, Keith thinks. _Yes_.

All his life he had been taught that he was lesser than his brethren. He had been called names and, whenever he had viewed his own reflection, he had known the insults to be true. He had fought tooth and nail to prove that he was worth something, that he could be just as good, that he could be _better_. But better by Galran standards was how many people you killed, how ruthless and bloodthirsty you were. Now, as a paladin, most of that was turned around.

He was still a better fighter than any of them and he knew they respected him for it, to a degree. But they also knew that his skill had been paid for in blood. Their value system was different from what Keith had been raised on. Their currency was integrity and honesty and goodness of heart and, suddenly, Keith found himself dirt-poor once more.

“I want to be good,” he says and, with abjection, he hears how his voice sounds like a child's, but he keeps going anyway, “I want to be good for- for you and for the team. I want the Blades to accept me and for others to know me beyond my lineage. I want to know what peace feels like.”

His own conception had been a war upon his mother's body, just like the pregnancy and birth had been. His entire life, he had known nothing but strife of one kind or another and then Shiro had come and offered him a truce so easily.

Shiro had touched him in a manner that was wholly unfamiliar to Keith, and suddenly Keith found that he wanted nothing but.

“You are good,” Shiro assures him, “I know it’s easy to forget sometimes because… we’ve all done things we regret. Thing that cannot be undone.”

They had all killed, for the sake of the greater good, for their own survival. They were heroes, yes, but not saints. Shiro knew better than most what that meant. After all, he had been champion.

“I understand your doubts,” Shiro continues, “And that you think I have the answers to everything. But the truth is… I am still learning. And, sometimes, I need someone to be gentle with me.”

“I wanted to,” Keith says, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop them, “After that mission. I... I wanted to let you fuck me whichever way you wanted. But you didn't let me.”

“Oh,” Shiro says, surprised, but Keith just keeps talking, his fingers carding the hair out of Shiro's forehead, pressing kisses against his temple.

“You say I need to trust you more but you need to trust me, too,” he says in a rush, “In battle, and in this. I don't always know what I'm doing, so I will make mistakes. But I'll try again and I'll do _better_.”

“Okay,” Shiro says and angles his head down to kiss the side of Keith’s neck , “Okay.

Everything past that moment is a natural consequence, like the birth of a star, like evolution. Keith lets himself be stripped of his formal wear while Shiro allows for the same, the two of them baring their bodies and letting each other be rediscovered.

Shiro has not changed in the weeks they had not touched but he still feels different underneath Keith’s searching fingers.

“How do you want me?” Keith asks, his mouth open against Shiro’s nipple, gently biting at him.

“On top of me, for now,” Shiro decides, lowering himself down on the mattress of his bed, “I want to see you.”

It’s less of direct request and more of a vague instruction, giving Keith leeway to do what he desires, however fast and hard and demanding he wants to go. So Keith, for once, decides to take things slow.

He splays his thighs over Shiro’s lap, grinding his ass against his cock to work him to hardness, his hands spanning the expanse of Shiro’s abs, feeling his every breath.

“No one’s ever fucked me like you do,” Keith reveals, though his eyes slip shut in the face of truth, “No one’s kissed me or come back to me. Only you.”

It should paint him a beggar, hungrily accepting what little he can get, but it only makes him feel like a prince, more so than any crown or titles ever had. So, finally, they fall into each other once more, knowing hands and starving mouths.

The first press of Shiro’s cock has Keith throw his head back and sigh, tightly grabbing his own arousal, rubbing a thumb over the head. His other hand reaches behind himself, teasing at the seam where is is split open.

To think that he had almost given this up without a fight - he’d have to thank Lance and Coran and all the other meddling bastards.

Of course, that is exactly the moment when they are interrupted.

“Request to enter,” a computerized voice says from somewhere above and Keith realizes that someone must be standing outside in the hallway, hoping to talk to Shiro. With spite fueling his thoughts, he can guess who it might be.

“Open,” he says, bracing himself against Shiro's chest, and is not at all surprised that the doors slide apart to reveal Princess Imini standing outside, hands neatly folded in front of her.

Immediately, her six eyes widen as she catches sight of them and her mouth falls open, obviously surprised to see them like this. Without taking his eyes off her, Keith lowers himself down on Shiro's cock, a low moan quivering in his throat.

Had she ever been turned down, Keith wonders. Had someone ever rejected her, a princess, and found himself a bastard instead? Had she ever been disappointed so?

Had she ever witnessed their depravity before?

The others prisoners on the battleship, Keith recalls, had surely heard him get fucked by Shiro. The paladins had witnessed the aftermath of Shiro taking him against the wall in the cell of the Castle of Lions. Even Lotor had seemed entirely too well informed about what the two of them got up to when they were alone. But so far, no one had actually seen them like this.

This is your Black Paladin, he thinks vindictively, working himself against Shiro's arousal. This is what he does. This is what I do to him. Do you want him still? Does it make  you want him more?

He doesn't know whether the tight feeling in his chest is pettiness or pride or perhaps something entirely different. He just knows that Shiro chose him, again and again, and that he is more grateful for it than he can put into words.

Shiro, who had tensed  when the doors opened, now twists his head around, only to see Imini still standing there. In one fluid movement, he sits up on the mattress and turns them around so that Keith is on his back, half-covered by Shiro's large body.

For a moment, Shiro locks eyes with the princess. But then he goes right back to ruthlessly fucking Keith, bending down to kiss him deeply.

Keith groans into it, the muscles on the insides of his thighs quivering as he meets Shiro's thrusts. He is vaguely aware of the door sliding shut again but, by then, he only has eyes for Shiro.

  


They depart the next morning.

Allura looks like she hasn't slept all night, her usually regal poise softened by exhaustion and underlying satisfaction. But it's not like Keith cannot relate.

“It seems the negotiations were successful,” he quips, “You must be a great diplomat, Princess.”

Allura has the decency to look slightly flustered, but she easily manages to distract from it.

“You must be, too,” she notes with a meaningful look from him to Shiro. Despite all the easy affection Shiro bestows upon him in public, Keith sometimes forgets that the rest of the team had once walked in on them after they had just fucked in the prison cells in the castle. Allura was no stranger to their deviancy.

“I am good with my mouth,” Keith agrees, watching as she turns her face away, either embarrassed or amused.

“I can't believe this happened,” Lance moans, when Allura has wandered away, and he's obviously still not over the fact that none of the royals present at the dinner last night had been interested in him. “Oh, you shut up,” he says when he sees Keith's private little smirk, “We can't all have hot steamy make-up sex with our buff alien boyfriend.”

Keith opens his mouth. Closes it. Boyfriend, he thinks and marvels a little at that word.

“Yeah, don't think we didn't notice how you're suddenly all over each other again,” Lance huffs, his half-hearted glare moving from Keith over to Shiro where he and Allura are paying their respects to Issala and Imini.

The queen has taken Allura's hand and is pressing a lingering kiss to the back of it while Imini is shyly smiling at Shiro whose easy posture does no belie their encounter from last night. Jealousy, Keith remembers, has no place among such a promiscuous people. And neither does it between faithful lovers.

“Keith,” Shiro calls him over now, invitingly reaching out a hand to beckon him over. Keith follows without question.

“Queen Issala and Princess Imini would like to talk to you,” Shiro says, settling his warm hand on Keith's shoulder.

“Yes?” Keith asks, trying not to appear too apprehensive. Too much was at stake for him to risk offending their allies now.

“We would like to offer you our deepest respect,” Imini begins after exchanging a short look with her older sister. “We greatly admire your persistence and your beliefs in what is right.”

Keith blinks.

“I'm... sorry?” he says, feeling caught-off-guard. He had expected many things but not such sincerity.

“To us, fathers mean little,” Issala explains, “But we understand that it must have been a great challenge to stand up to yours and instead side with your mother's species.”

Keith's breath stills.

Son of Zarkon they had called him among Galra, with thinly veiled scorn and disgust, his human name an affront to them. Lori, he recalls now what Pidge had told him of his mother. She had been called Lori.

He stands a little straighter.

“I thank you for your kind words,” he tells the two Illili, “Yet, for me, this fight has little to do with race but with conviction. We must not differentiate our allies by their origin. In this fight, I am neither human nor Galra, but a Paladin of Voltron.”

“Well spoken, Paladin,” Issala acknowledges with a tilt of her head. Her six eyes are very bright. Keith, however, can only focus on Shiro's fingers that gently squeeze his shoulder.

“You shall have the Illili's alliance,” the queen declares, “For as long as it takes to subdue the Galran Empire, and for many eons beyond that. In this fight, we are all equal.”

And, right then and there, Keith feels like he belongs.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Now that this part is out of the way, I am getting excited for the next installment because the boys will finally be going to Earth which means I can put them through a whole 'nother set of obstacles. Such as... sensational media!  
> Keith is finally opening up, after all, but how will things change once everyone in his found family gets a chance to see to their real families again?
> 
> Let me know what you'd like to see and how you liked this one!


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